Madness
by The Secret Miracle
Summary: Follow-up to Method: Arthur exacts his revenge, and you wouldn't like him when he's angry. Except Eames really, really would. Pre-movie, Slash, rated M for language and carnal entanglements.


A/N: The characters aren't mine, obviously, and neither is the James Bond franchise. Arthur's sculpture is real: "Breaking of the Vessels" by Anselm Kiefer. Look it up. It's awesome. Eames' taste in movies is just as fabulously awful as his taste in clothes, and you should all go get drunk and watch Moonraker right now. Do it.

"Madness."

After about a week things had seemed to settle down, and Eames figured that Arthur had gotten over his little toddler tantrum. Cobb said the blonde worked well, and that was it. Arthur certainly didn't seem like the type to escalate things. He was too unimaginative for that. They'd reverted to their basic pattern of mutual insults, and the job prep moved forward.

They needed practice timing the kicks since this project required bi-level dreaming. Cobb was getting very broody of late; Arthur suggested they use this to their advantage for the test runs, since his subconscious would be the most hostile. Eames was rather dubious about this plan but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't any of his business. Cobb was so focused on jobs and his own internal mess that at times he felt more like a boss than a partner. It was one of the reasons Eames enjoyed his ongoing war with Arthur; he lightened the mood and relieved stress. There were no dire consequences because in the waking world, Arthur punched like a girl.

The first level was a museum: a vast sunlit atrium dotted with sculptures and other galleries branching off through arched doorways. Above them, balconies of the numerous floors hugged the perimeters. They stood in the center, surrounded by crowds. Cobb examined the nearby fountain, which was massive and had apparently been built in Rome in the 1570s. He seemed to be contemplating the coins littered in its basin.

"If you make a wish, take care not to fall in," Eames murmured in his general direction. Cobb grunted in reply and Eames left him for a far corner of the sculpture hall. He could discern Arthur through the projections, standing remote and staring at the wall with his arms folded. As he drew nearer Eames could see that he was staring at a massive metal _thing_ that defied easy description. There was a line of innocuous tape concealing the electronic sensors, and behind the line the marble floor was strewn with huge shards of glass.

He'd approached as quietly as he could, but when he cleared his throat Arthur was not startled and turned his head and regarded him mildly. Eames was a little disappointed.

"You _dreamed_ this?" he asked, tilting his head towards the sculpture.

"No," said Arthur. He sounded disdainful. Eames frowned at him.

"What the hell is it supposed to _be_, anyway?"

"It's a bookshelf."

"...huh."

"Did you _need_ something, Eames?"

He tilted his head. "Just looking around." He kept his voice mild and turned to look directly at Arthur. "It's quite a lovely piece. Rather wish I had time to study it in-depth." Eames knew he probably shouldn't push it, but the look on Arthur's face would be priceless. With slow precision, he licked his lips.

Arthur faltered a half-step back, his mouth agape for a moment before he snapped it shut and narrowed his eyes.

"You and Cobb ready to go?" he asked through his teeth.

"Ready, willing and able," Eames grinned.

Arthur blinked, clearly at a loss for a response. Eames tallied another victory.

They took an elevator to one of the upper floors, where everything was windows and light and dizzying views of the city below. It was very cold and very bright, and Cobb and Eames shivered in their suits. Arthur, to Eames' irritation, looked quite comfortable.

All around them were slabs of solid color, huge bold canvases standing in stark contrast to the white maze of walls. It was very modern, very Arthur. It was absolutely disgusting. 

When Arthur sent them under, they awoke in an alleyway looking out onto a raucous parade. It was night, there was music everywhere, and the smell of food and alcohol was overwhelming. This was more like it.

"Carnival?" asked Cobb, raising an eyebrow.

Eames huffed. "It's a wonder all your marks don't get suspicious, with all the boring art deco dreck Arthur comes up with. People like to have a little fun, you know? Dreams should be fun."

Cobb scanned the street, trying to find the warehouse they were looking for through the crowd of celebrating projections. "And which one is this from?"

"Moonraker."

"Ah."

"I've always felt it was underrated."

"Mhmm."

"People give Moore a lot of shit, you know, but really-" Cobb tapped him on the arm and cleared his throat.

"I hate to interrupt you there, Eames, but why is there a giant clown heading towards us?"

Eames turned and peered at the far end of the alley, where there was indeed a tall figure moving in their direction. It looked like it was on stilts. And it was wearing a massive and horrifying clown head. He froze, unable to look away from the hideous rictus as it grew nearer and nearer.

"Oh," said Eames. "_Fuck_."

Cobb grabbed his shoulder and dragged them into the crowd; the projections looked startled and grumpy, but no one was being outwardly hostile yet and Eames counted his blessings. They made it to the other side of the street, where Cobb shoved him against the wall of a building.

"Why the hell is there a _clown_?" He was getting unhinged. The high-pitched voice and wild eyes startled Eames, who wondered if the man had endured some type of childhood circus trauma. He shrugged it off.

"It's Carnival, Cobb, there are clowns!"

Cobb growled in irritation. "But why is it _following_ us?" he demanded.

"It's in the bloody film, it's Jaws."

"Jesus, Eames, this is why you don't draw from fucking memory for dreams!"

Eames scowled. "Don't yell at me, for God's sake. I will _take care of it_." He'd made sure to add weapons caches to the street level, and quickly retrieved a rifle from a trash can on the corner. It was difficult to get a clean shot amidst the performers, revelers and floats, but he managed. He was all set to get off a quick round and a witty rejoinder to Cobb, but a tremor shuddered through the pavement.

"_Shit_," he hissed, as the round grazed the clown and struck the side of a dog-shaped float.

"Now what?" Cobb braced himself in a doorway as the ground rumbled again. "You think Arthur's in trouble up there?"

"I have _no_ idea." The next shot didn't miss: the clown dropped into the crowd. "Let's just get to the warehouse, shall we?"

This, as it turned out, was easier said than done. The revelers were everywhere, making movement slow. Eames noticed that the costumes were all rather revealing.

"Is it me," he wondered as they jogged around a corner into yet another group of young, beautiful and raucous people, "or is this getting a bit out of hand?"

"You're not wrong," Cobb grumbled. The tremors had continued, nothing too violent, but the landscape was becoming odd. Buildings and trees wobbled as if they were gelatin, and the stars in the sky fell slowly downward in bright-colored streaks.

"I have the proverbial bad feeling about this." They tried to skirt the edges of the crowd, but it was impossible to avoid contact and Eames was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Somewhere along the line the projections seemed to have moved past 'wild party' and settled squarely in 'Roman orgy' territory, from the looks of what was going on around them.

Someone broke off from the crush of people and groped him; Eames couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, only that it was covered in sweat and glitter. Cobb pulled it off of him but two more were heading their way and they broke into a sprint. He tried to ponder what it meant to be molested by one's own subconscious, but it only made his head hurt.

There was something seriously wrong with this dream. The buildings in this area were growing thin and transparent. He leaned against one to catch his breath, and it shivered like a soap bubble.

"Come on," said Cobb, and shoved him along. "I see the warehouse." The building gave a satisfying POP, and vanished.

"How the hell is this happening?" he wondered. They shoved their way through the projections, and it was unusual that they didn't seem to be violent at all, only very amorous.

Cobb shook his head. "Something must be fucked up on the upper level," he panted.

"It's not _something_," Eames replied, realizing the nature of the disturbance. "It's-"

But he was grabbed from behind and dragged into a dark building before he could say any more, and a hand clapped over his mouth and he could see Cobb race into the warehouse before the entire structure shivered and twisted in on itself and became a giant statue. Of a fucking penguin.

He wheeled on his attacker. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," said Arthur. "Not yet."

"I mean the _real_ you," Eames sighed.

"I have no idea." The projection shrugged, slipped fluidly out of his suit jacket, which pooled on the floor until it was an actual pool. The water was dark and sparkling. "_You're_ the one who brought me in here. Do you want to take me someplace like this? Show me a good time? Have a romantic holiday?"

"I don't think you know _how_ to have a good time," he scoffed. "God forbid you get your hair mussed."

"Try me," Arthur replied. He smiled wide and wicked, like the real Arthur never would. It was very tempting.

"No," he said, but Arthur was already rubbing against him and his protests fizzled out after that. The projection held him in place and kissed him, hard. He didn't bother struggling.

It was raining inside the building. The droplets hit his face in the rhythm of a song he couldn't place and his skin tingled wherever they struck. Arthur's mouth tasted like rainwater. Eames felt the ground shake again and then his stomach lurched with the sensation of floating. For a moment he wondered what Arthur was doing to him up there that he was in freefall, but as he broke away from the projection and its treacherous lips he saw that the empty crates that littered the building were all on the floor, as they ought to be.

"Why isn't there gravity?" he demanded, not that this Arthur would know.

He smirked, toying with Eames' belt. It was maddening. "I think it's just you," he said. "You're flying."

Floating upward and anchored only by Arthur's hands, Eames shivered in a momentary wave of fear. He had no control over the situation anymore, no way to reach Cobb, and he was completely at the mercy of his own subconscious' projection of Arthur, who, judging by the look on his face, was very likely psychotic.

"Stop this," he muttered as he watched Arthur fingering the edge of his shirt.

"You want me to let you go? Are you sure? The ceiling looks pretty high."

Eames stared up into the rain and saw only columns rising so high they disappeared into atmosphere. There was a flash of lightning above him, and a thunderclap reverberated downwards and he couldn't stop trembling. He was floating high enough now that Arthur's head was pressed into his stomach, gnawing gently on him. His clothes were soaked but somehow Arthur managed to peel them off. Maybe they just melted. Eames could see sparks jumping from his skin and Arthur's hands were slick on his hips when he took his cock into his mouth and Eames breathed "_Oh God_" and he could see the words, wispy curling clouds that hung in the air in front of his face until slowly they vanished in the rain.

He was shaking and the building was shaking and the air was on fire and it felt like there were hands all over him and fingers inside him but he looked down and saw Arthur's two hands right there, his thumbs rubbing the hollows above his hips and making him gasp. Arthur was doing obscene things with his tongue and the noises he made were worse. He was drooling, his face was so wet and Eames gaped at him and wished desperately that this was real. He wanted to touch him, to run his hands through that perfect hair and pull him closer. He tried to reach out but he couldn't move his hands, and Eames looked around in confusion because it felt like there were strong wiry arms around him, holding him motionless. He struggled instinctively and Arthur laughed with his mouth full and the sparks on his skin burned down his spine.

Eames cursed in every language he knew and the arms only tightened, making it hard to breathe. He couldn't move at all. The sensations were unbearable and he was going to lose it. The lights flickered overhead and as Arthur hummed some half-remembered song the bulbs blew and a wall toppled. Despite the wrongness of it all this was the best goddamn blowjob _ever_ and the rain was so hot and relentless and he just wanted to _die_- 

He awoke with a gasp, staring at bright gallery lights and breathing like he'd just run a marathon. Eames saw Arthur, the real Arthur who was so much more evil than his subconscious could ever dream up, crouched over him and smiling the faintest of smiles and holding his dick in one sticky hand.

"Now we're even," said Arthur with absolute calm. Eames wanted to hit him, if only his arms didn't feel boneless and his pulse were a little closer to normal.

"I am going to kill you," he said, struggling to breathe evenly, keep his voice level. "I am going buy a black mamba and put it your bed in your hotel room while you're asleep so it bites you and you get poisoned and you die. I am going to hide explosives in your bloody garment bag and I will dance on the charred pieces of your corpse. I will do a fucking _jig_."

Arthur wiped his hand on Eames' trousers. "So I take it you enjoyed yourself?"

He grabbed Arthur by the tie and pulled him close so that their noses were nearly touching. "If you ever, _ever_ do that again-"

Arthur smirked. He looked glorious.

"At least give a bloke some warning first," Eames finished. He looked over at Cobb, who was slumped against the wall. He came out of the dream with a start, and he looked angry. "And for God's sake don't do it when there'll be someone else in my head."

"_What the fuck was that_?" Cobb screeched, and a crowd of projections looked over at the three of them, glaring daggers.

"It's settled now," Arthur shrugged.

Eames shoved him in the shoulder, but he was smiling. "The _hell_ it is."

Cobb's eyelid twitched. "I just got _smothered_ to death by my own projections. If you two can't deal with your ridiculous issues like fucking _adults_, I guarantee you I won't be working with either of you in the future." He ran a hand through his hair and they stared at him, sufficiently chastised.

"We'll take care of it," Eames reassured him. Arthur nodded.

"Sure, fine," Cobb snapped. "Whatever."

Eames took care of it three nights later with a bottle each of tequila and lube, and rather inventive use of neckties. Arthur enjoyed everything but the hangover.

The job went off without a hitch.


End file.
